


Die in Your Lap

by BleedingTypewriter



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Aged Up, Akira is pure chaotic evil, Alcohol, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Real World, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bottom Akechi Goro, Dirty Talk, Drinking, It just a very brief shared joint, M/M, Marijuana, PWP, Party, Power Bottom Akechi Goro, References to Drugs, Sakamoto Ryuji has a big dick, Top Sakamoto Ryuji, best friend Akira, blowjob, morgana is an actual cat, ryuji says sum fuk ryuji gets sum fuk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-12
Updated: 2021-02-12
Packaged: 2021-03-12 13:53:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29385858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BleedingTypewriter/pseuds/BleedingTypewriter
Summary: He finds himself sorely lacking in a lot of ways (between his father and Kamoshida and a bunch of shit he’s still trying to work through with Maruki, his self esteem’s taken a bit of a hit over the years; fight him about it), but this one thing he knows for sure:He has a big,bigdick.And honestly, fuck his life about it.------or, how Ryuji (and hisbig, big dick) met Goro (and his very well hidden size kink).
Relationships: Akechi Goro/Sakamoto Ryuji, Kurusu Akira & Sakamoto Ryuji
Comments: 6
Kudos: 69





	Die in Your Lap

Ryuji Sakamoto has a big dick.

He finds himself sorely lacking in a lot of ways—between his father and Kamoshida and a bunch of shit he’s still trying to work through with Maruki, his self esteem’s taken a bit of a hit over the years; fight him about it—but this one thing he knows for sure:

He has a _big, big_ dick.

And honestly, fuck his life about it.

It had seemed like a good thing for a while. There’d been three or four testosterone-soaked years—right before his first real sexual experience—when Ryuji’d ridden a wave of unearned confidence, spurred on by movies and locker room talk. He’d been on the up-and-up on the track team, so flirting with girls (for that short, blessed time in his life) had been _easy_ back then. He’d had a few gold medals to show off and a smile he’d been told was cute and a body he’d worked hard for and, failing all that, he’d had his ace in the hole: his _big, big dick_.

And then a girl had seen his _big, big dick_ for the first time.

And she’d recoiled like it was the most ridiculous thing she’d ever seen.

Ryuji, hard and nervous and sweating all over her sheets (because _holy shit_ he’d made out with a girl or two before, but never done _this_ —never had someone arching half-naked against him), had gone red straight down to his belly button.

And the girl had cleared her throat, and kept _staring_ at Ryuji’s (rapidly flagging) erection, and stuttered, “That’s, um...how am I supposed to...you’re _big_. Like _porn_ big.”

Ryuji hadn’t known what to say. He wasn’t about to argue when he wasn’t the one staring down a _big, big_ fucking dick. And he certainly wasn’t about to voice what he was thinking: that he’d been _confused_ ; had thought looking like porn was a _good thing_. “S-Sorry?”

“No, _I’m_ sorry, I just…”

To be fair, she hadn’t meant to be mean about it. She wasn’t, really. She’d done her best with her hands and mouth, but whether because of her hesitant technique or the shock of finding out that his _big, big dick_ is, in fact, apparently _too_ big, it had ended up being mostly mediocre.

(For Ryuji, anyway. By the time she’d worked an orgasm out of him, he’d been so disappointed in his own stupid body that he’d flipped her over and, determined to learn at least _something_ from this whole ordeal, gotten the hang of getting her off pretty quick.)

And maybe he’d have been able to bounce back—might have gone back to being dumb proud of his _big, big dick_ , might have assumed that first time was just a fluke—if it hadn’t been for the second girl…

(“Okay, I’m trying, but holy _shit_ , I can’t take this…”)

...and the third…

(“You know, I think I’m actually feeling a little sick, maybe we should stop…”)

...and then the first time he’d finally gotten over himself and, maybe a little too optimistically, opened his fly for a _boy_ …

(“Oh whoa, _whoa_ , you weren’t kidding. _Damn_. I’ll try my best, here, but no promises…”)

So, okay, _shit_ , by the time Ryuji’s in his first year of university and on the other side of so much shock and horror, it’s impossible for him not to know:

His _big, big dick_ is a _big, big problem_.

And, as he does with most _big, big problems_ in his life, Ryuji finds a way to suck it up and deal with it.

He gets incredibly good at keeping his clothes on; at wrangling rights to the shower stall on the end at the gym and facing the corner so no one can see unless they’re really trying; at staying markedly, _casually_ single (and keeping his few party-buzzed trysts to a bare, third-base minimum).

So, really, Goro Akechi can go fuck himself.

For a lot of reasons, if you ask Ryuji, but mostly because he’s got _no right_ to show up at LeBlanc with his prissy tie and his pretty-boy hair and his pretentious goddamned _everything_ and make Ryuji fall for him like this.

What a dick.

Almost as big a dick as…

Well.

Therein lies the problem.

Unlikely as it had at first seemed, Ryuji likes Goro. He _likes_ him. And that wouldn’t be a problem if Goro was content to be his usual uppity self about it—if he’d just scoff and call Ryuji an _ape_ or a _degenerate_ , the way he likes to do in that sweet, oily tone of his.

But honestly.

 _Fuck Ryuji’s life_.

Because Goro _does_ call him those things, and stare over his black coffee, and make faces at Ryuji’s juvenile taste, and that part is easy enough…

But then he kisses him, too.

Right there in LeBlanc, after Akira’s just flipped the sign over, at the counter where they always sit.

Goro kisses Ryuji, and looks at him like he’s an idiot for being surprised, and it’s the worst thing in the world because it makes something clench up in Ryuji’s stomach that he hasn’t felt since…

(“Ow, fuck, I’m sorry, we need to stop…”)

(“That’s not happening. There’s _no way_.”)

(“...are you okay with, like, a handjob, or…? Jesus, even _that’s_ gonna be, like...”)

He knows he shouldn’t start up with Goro. Not in any way that really matters.

But fuck his life.

He does, anyway.

He doesn’t have a choice.

How’s he supposed to _not_ date the prick, ruined and perfect as he is?

Actually, scratch that; better question:

How’s he supposed to date the prick and _not_ want to fuck that haughty look off his face every time he sees it?

“I guess you could call it a…” Akira lowers his chin so he can waggle his eyebrows over the rim of his glasses, “... _hottie_ look, then.”

Ryuji doesn’t want to give him the satisfaction of groaning, but he can’t help it. He drops his head onto his folded arms with an unamused whine. LeBlanc’s tabletops smell like old coffee and new disinfectant. (They smell like the first time Goro kissed him.) “You’re _not funny_.”

He doesn’t need to raise his head to know that Akira’s grinning at him from behind the counter. The espresso machine burps a puff of steam, like it’s laughing along with him. Assholes, both of them. “I _am_ funny, but that’s neither here nor there. Point remains: you see his haughty, hottie look, and you want to rail him, yeah?”

Ryuji doesn’t even try to stifle his groan this time.

 _Rail_ is one word for it, sure.

 _Ravish_ might be more accurate. Or _ream_. All sorts of fun r-words. _Ruin_. _Wreck_ , even. (He’s never been great with spelling.)

“I want to rail him when I _don’t_ see his stupid look, too.”

“I really don’t see the problem,” Akira says (and Ryuji groans again, because _here we go_ ), “You could just, you know, _tell him_ about your obscenely huge do–”

Ryuji’s never been so glad to hear the bell above LeBlanc’s door.

He _hates_ when Akira calls it a _dong_. It’s a club-like, useless word.

And besides, they’ve had this talk a bajillion times, and it’s dumb, because Ryuji objectively knows, at some point, he’s going to have to address the elephant in the room (or, at least, its jumbo-sized trunk). He knows he’s going to have to stop wearing strategically long shirts and angling away every time Goro makes him hard (which is, like, _all the fucking time_ , at this point).

He just can’t quite figure out how to bring it up without sounding like a dumbass.

He can’t quite figure out how to bring it up without sounding like a break-up (because he’s not _that_ stupid; he knows Goro wants him, too—though fuck if Ryuji can figure out why—and he can’t shake the worry that his boyfriend is the type of guy to decide _very_ quickly whether or not Ryuji’s _big, big dick_ is worth the hassle).

\--- --- --- --- --- ---

In the end, Ryuji doesn’t have to bring it up at all.

As with so many problems in his life, Akira takes care of it.

He does it like a _shithead_ , but to be fair, that’s not really anything new. It’s kind of why Ryuji likes him, to be honest. (Sometimes he considers his choice in best friend and boyfriend and seriously wonders about what kind of masochist it makes him, but Maruki generally advises him not to ponder such big questions all at once.)

Akira does it at a party, as if to prove how little ( _ha_ ) a deal it is.

( _Shithead_.)

It’s Yusuke’s birthday, so the alcohol is cheap but readily available. It had been decided that everyone would pool their resources for a booze fund and quantity would trump quality (no matter how much Haru’d offered to foot the entire bill; using her place, they’d assured her, would be more than enough). Even the tips of Makoto’s ears have started turning red, and she doesn’t seem to care, anymore, about the furtive (read: incredibly obvious) joint everyone but her’d gone out to share in the backyard.

And here’s the thing about Akira: he’s sometimes aloof, usually pretty playful, and always, _always_ calm—the calmest one in the room, anyway, and _nothing_ , as far as Ryuji can tell, makes him crack. Not Goro, as hard as he tries; not shitty teachers or asshole bosses or sleazy politicians; and not, apparently, however much booze comes in however many martinis.

Ryuji has no idea what goes into a martini, but Goro’s been keeping pace with Akira all night, and he’s starting to flush (this pretty, soft pink, right across his unfair cheekbones), which he never does, and each pretty conical glass had smelled, at least to Ryuji’s unrefined nose, like gasoline.

They’re all a little drunk and a little stoned, and while Ann’s started to slump in her chair and Futaba’s barely following the conversation, Akira’s not even slurring his words. It takes Yusuke three tries to correctly pronounce _canvas_ , but Akira’s stretched out on the floor with his chin balanced in one hand, scrolling through whatever on his phone and still keeping track of the room like it’s nothing.

It’d be irritating if Ryuji weren’t on that side of _feelin’ fine_ , himself. Akira’s always like that.

But Goro’s never been around an intoxicated Akira, and apparently he’s irritated regardless of how _fine_ he’s _feelin’_ , and he finally asks, obviously peeved (and, probably to his chagrin, obviously tipsy), “Kurusu, are you even drunk?”

Once, Akira’d told Ryuji that part of the reason he wears his unnecessary glasses is for the drama of a good glint off them, and it probably does nothing but piss Goro off more that, drunk as Akira must be, he pulls off a doozy as he looks up from his phone. His entire left lens flashes a suave white as he deadpans, “I’m shit-faced.”

Goro squints. Sometimes Ryuji doesn’t understand how he’s such close friends with Akira when he seems to hate him so much. “You’re infuriating.”

“And shit-faced. Besides, you asked. And you use words like ‘infuriating’ when you’re drunk, so do one.”

“I’m not _drunk_...” (Ryuji wants to keep his boyfriend, at least for as long as he can, so he doesn’t laugh, but it’s a close thing.) “...and _you_ do one.” (A close, _close_ thing.)

“Who’s doing who, now?” Futaba mumbles.

Makoto laughs. “No one’s doing anyone, ‘taba.”

Akira laughs harder, and tilts his head so his glasses _glint_ again ( _shithead_ ), and Goro might be drunk, but a drunk detective is still a detective. “Find something particularly funny about that?”

And if there were any doubt that Akira is, indeed, despite all appearances, shit-faced, it flies out the window when he answers, “It’s funny because it’s _true_ ,” and looks between Ryuji and Akechi with a horrendous, _delighted_ giggle.

“Kurusu–” Goro cuts himself off and rounds on Ryuji. “ _What have you been_ –?”

And before Ryuji can say anything—do anything—fuck, before he even has the good sense to go red in the face—Akira opens his perpetually composed, incredibly hammered mouth and continues like it’s no big deal while he _stares_ at Ryuji (so there can be no mistaking), “No one’s doing anyone because _someone_ is smuggling a muppet.”

To be fair, it really does help, at first, because Goro goes from angry to confused in a split-second. He seems to seriously consider whether it’d be worth the humiliation of admitting he _doesn’t know something_ straight to Akira’s face when Yusuke saves him the trouble of asking: “... _smuggling a muppet_ …?”

“You know, packing a manaconda,” Akira says, which explains exactly nothing (which is its own weird, stressful relief for Ryuji).

Yusuke looks like a particularly well-bred, adorable dog when he tilts his head to the side like that, and any other time Ryuji’d tell him about it, but he’s too busy staring _mortified_ at who he _thought_ was his best friend (until, apparently, something called a martini butted in). “ _Akira_ –” he starts.

But there’s no stopping it, now.

“Ryuji’s _hung_.”

The laugh Futaba lets out is _inhuman_ : a painful sounding cackle that tips her right out of her chair. She already knows about Ryuji’s problem—it had taken her a while to learn proper boundaries when it came to accessing the data on her new friends’ phones—and even when she’s sober it makes her _guffaw_ like this whenever it comes up. It makes Ryuji cringe at the best of times, but now each sharp, high _heh_ feels like it's gouging its way into his eardrums.

He can’t look at Goro.

But he can certainly feel Goro looking at him.

“ _Akira, why_ –?!”

Akira cuts Ryuji off. “I am definitely shit-faced. I’m gonna puke, I think. Be right back,” he says, and hops up onto his feet, and saunters out of the room. Not five seconds later the bathroom door clicks shut and an almighty, albeit muffled, retching noise follows.

Makoto’s gone pink, and Ann is doing her very best impression of the smiling imp emoji (a _scary_ good facsimile), and Yusuke looks _far_ too intrigued (some artistic cog whirring that Ryuji doesn’t want to know about), and Haru looks like she’s just been told the sky is blue, and Ryuji cares about exactly none of this because _he can feel Goro looking at him_ , and he’s still too much of a pussy to face the music and look back.

He opens his mouth, but what’s he supposed to say? _So, anyway, how about them Yankees_?

He doesn’t, it turns out, have to say anything.

Without a word, Goro gets up from the couch and pulls Ryuji up by one wrist and drags him down the hallway, no room for argument. He guides him past the bathroom door with its vague, disgusting noises still emanating, and practically tosses him into what turns out to be one of the Okumuras’ guest bedrooms. He catches a knee against the edge of the bed as he goes in and nearly goes sprawling. He’s barely got his feet under him before Goro’s grabbing him by one shoulder and spinning him around and _glaring_ at him.

Ryuji withers.

“Goro,” he says, and licks his lips like he can find the words he needs there and tongue them into his own mouth. “Goro, listen, I–”

“Sakamoto,” Goro hisses, low and seemingly enraged, and _yikes_ , last name and all. “Is it true?”

Ryuji studies the carpet between his feet. It’s a boring shade of grey, and he wishes he could melt into it. “...yeah,” he admits. “I’m sorry, I know it’s...I should have talked to you, but…”

“Show me.”

Ryuji starts; looks back up at Goro’s face to find him still _glaring_ , fucking _ice cold_. “Show…?”

Goro doesn’t flinch. “Show me your _fucking_ dick, Sakamoto.”

Double last name. _Double yikes_.

Ryuji’s dumbfounded—pretty fairly, he thinks—but apparently he takes too long being dumbfounded, because Goro reaches out himself in the next moment and undoes Ryuji’s belt like he hates having to deign to touch it, fingers quick and angry and clinical.

“I…” Ryuji sounds stupid, and he knows it. He doesn’t know what to do with himself. His hands are hanging uselessly by his sides, and the look on Goro’s face tells him he’s in _deep shit_ if he tries to use them to stop whatever’s going on, here; but considering _what’s going on here_ is his boyfriend practically _ripping_ his fly open, Ryuji feels too dumbstruck to move to help, either. “You’re...you want to…?”

Goro pulls Ryuji’s pants and underwear down to his knees with one brisk, completely unsexy tug (fuck Ryuji’s life, this is not how he pictured his boyfriend seeing him for the first time), and finally stops glaring at Ryuji’s face to glare down at his dick instead.

Well.

At least it’s as small as it’s likely to get, so he has that going for him.

Ryuji is completely soft with embarrassment, _big, big dick_ sitting as un-intimidating as possible between his legs, everything looking vaguely ridiculous peeking out from below Ryuji’s t-shirt.

Still.

There’s no getting around it.

It’s still very obviously a _big, big dick_.

“Oh,” Goro breathes. “Sakamoto, what the _hell_?”

Ryuji groans. “Can you at least stop with the _Sakamoto_?”

If anything, Goro glares harder. “ _Ryuji_ ,” he grits. “ _What is this_?”

Ryuji sighs.

Fuck his life.

“It’s my _big, big dick_.”

Goro looks back up at him so suddenly it makes Ryuji jump. He’s not glaring anymore. Or...Ryuji doesn’t think so, at least. He’s not sure he’s ever seen whatever expression _that_ is. There’s something dark about it, but…

 _But_...

“And how long,” Goro hisses, “were you planning on hiding your _big, big dick_ from me?”

“I don’t–”

“Is that why you’ve been such a fucking _prude_?”

Ryuji sputters. “I’m not a _prude_!”

Goro goes on like he doesn’t even hear him. He’s looking down at Ryuji’s _big, big dick_ again, and whatever’s happening on his face is...it almost looks…

Ryuji’s not sure how to feel about it.

Hope is not a thing he’s accustomed to in the bedroom.

“Is that why you look just about ready to hump my leg like a _dog_ every time I see you, and then you slink off with your tail between your legs if I so much as kiss your fucking _neck_?”

“I…what?” Ryuji feels like he’s watching a sped-up video with the audio at half-speed. He’s getting mixed signals at mixed times, and his _big, big dick_ is still just _out_ and _hanging there_ , and Goro’s still _staring_ at it, and Ryuji’s getting surer and surer that whatever that expression is, it’s not the disgust or horror he’d been expecting.

He’s getting surer and surer it’s…

Goro doesn’t look back up again, just starts shucking off his own clothes while he _stares_ at Ryuji’s _big, big dick_ , pulling his tie loose and flicking his shirt buttons open all deft and efficient, like it isn’t—holy _fuck_ —dawning scary quick on Ryuji:

 _This is happening_.

“Ryuji Sakamoto,” Goro snaps, and shoves Ryuji hard in the chest so he topples backward onto the bed. “I’m going to split myself open on your _big, big dick_ , and you’re not going to do anything but lie there and _take it_.”

Goro crawls up over Ryuji, and slides his shirt up along the way, and Ryuji’s brain is kind of starting to run at the same speed as reality again— _kind of_ —so he has the wherewithal to get his hands flat beside him, to push himself up a little, but Goro’s having exactly none of that. There’s a palm on Ryuji’s chest too quick for him to catch, pressing the air out of him and forcing him flat on his back.

“ _Ah,_ ah,” Goro chides. “What did I _just_ say?”

Ryuji licks his lips. His tongue is tacky, but he’s pretty sure it’s not from the weed, anymore. “I’m gonna...I’m gonna lie here and take it?”

The hand on his chest drifts down, fingernails scraping over his stomach. It tickles, but not enough to make Ryuji move. (Well...most of him doesn’t move, anyway. As per usual, his _big, big dick_ has a mind of its own, and twitches unashamedly.) “Right. And do you know _why_ you’re going to lie there and take it?”

Ryuji’s not exactly sure where to look, here. Goro’s working his pants off (and it should probably be at least a little silly—a one-handed series of shimmies—but it’s somehow not at all) and it’s making him lean on the hand he’s decided to brace on Ryuji’s hip, _dangerously_ close to the spot where his _big, big dick_ is still swelling (mostly because Goro’s got his pants down to his knees, now, but he’s kept his underwear on, and it’s this stupid, pretentious shade of red, and the fabric looks silky and expensive and does absolutely nothing to hide the wet spot Goro’s cock is leaking into the front), and he’s still wrapping his head around not only the fact that Goro’s turned-on face is so fucking _ruthless_ , but also the fact that it apparently _does it_ for Ryuji is ways he’s never even thought of, and…

Goro gets his pants off and leans down to nip at Ryuji’s left hip bone. “ _Do you know why_?” he prompts.

Fuck.

What was the question, again?

“No,” Ryuji answers.

Goro nips him again.

“Because I could have had your _big, big dick_ for _weeks_ , and now I’ve got to make up for lost time, and it’s all your fault, you _dolt_.”

For a split-second, Ryuji wants to wrinkle his nose at the word _dolt_. It reminds him too much of _dong_ —club-like and useless—but before the thought is even really _there_ , Goro slides the hand on his hip over and grabs Ryuji by the base of his _big, big dick_ and licks up the underside hard and slow and _long_ , eyes fluttering closed like he can’t fucking believe just _how_ long he can make it last, and Ryuji figures _fuck it_ , Goro can use whatever fucking words he wants if _this_ is what he’s going to do with his tongue afterward.

“Oh,” Ryuji says. He feels a whole new kind of slow. “That’s...you _like_ …?”

Goro hums (right against the side of Ryuji’s dick, holy shit). “I like.”

Ryuji’s breath comes out all weird and shuddery. “Oh,” he says again. “You like.”

No one’s ever _liked_ before.

“And,” Ryuji says, “You _want_ …?”

Goro groans ( _right against the side of Ryuji’s dick, holy shit_ ). “I want.”

Ryuji makes an unholy noise he’s not sure he’s ever made. “Oh.” When he tries to look down at Goro, his _big, big dick_ is obscuring half his fucking face.

No one’s ever _wanted_ before.

“Oh,” Goro says, and smirks all dark and victorious, and drops his jaw so he can slide the tip of Ryuji’s cock into his mouth.

And usually this part is _nerve wracking_ for Ryuji. Usually he has to keep vigilant and still so he doesn’t drag his dick against any wayward teeth, and the person between his legs is clenching their eyes shut and maybe starting to choke, just at having to stretch their mouth so wide.

But Goro runs his fingertips up his own neck and over his jaw and across the bulge in his cheek, like he’s trying to memorize the feeling of Ryuji’s dick in there, and then wraps both hands around the parts he can’t fit in his mouth (which is most of it), and goes about working his own throat open like he doesn’t even _like_ himself.

He forces himself down on Ryuji’s cock over and over, nudging himself further and further, and Ryuji lasts maybe thirty seconds before he’s reaching down to tug at Goro’s hair because _holy shit_ , no one’s ever even _tried_ to blow him like that, and if he’s not careful Goro’s going to make him shoot in, like, a minute flat. “You gotta…” Ryuji makes that unholy noise again when Goro reaches down with one wet hand to roll his balls in his palm. “You gotta _slow down_ , I’ve never...you’re gonna make me…”

Goro looks affronted. “You think, after I waited _this long_ , I’m only going to make you come once?” He runs the very tip of his tongue in a quick circle around the head of Ryuji’s cock and works one hand right underneath with lazy, slow wrist flicks. “That’s almost cute.”

Ryuji goes off by surprise.

He comes before he can recognize what the sudden tightness in his gut even _is_ , twitching violently against Goro’s face, thrusting his hips so his _big, big dick_ makes an even bigger mess. He pulses once, twice—then realizes that, fuck, he _coming_ , coming _on Goro’s face_ , and his _big, big dick_ still looks _ridiculous_ in comparison, but for the first time he allows himself to _like it_ ; to _like_ that Goro sticks his narrow pink tongue out so Ryuji can grind along it and _shit_ , he looks even bigger in comparison—then pulses again, harder, orgasm ramping _up_ in intensity rather than _down_ , and he’s—

He doesn’t care when it starts to hurt. That’s probably a good thing, because neither does Goro. He just keeps looking up, heedless of the mess on his face, stroking half Ryuji’s cock with those easy, sluggish pulls. Goro makes it look like a promise.

Hardly anyone’s ever gotten Ryuji off, period, and here Goro is treating it like a _warm-up_.

“I should have told you the second I met you,” Ryuji pants. He wonders if this is what hysteria feels like. “I should have whipped it out the first time you kissed me.”

Goro laughs softly; a little too brightly, like he hadn’t meant to let it slip. “I’d have slapped you.”

Ryuji helplessly cants his hips against Goro’s torturously slow palm. It earns him a second hand, wrapping around him underneath the first one, but it doesn’t move any faster. Goro just uses both hands to angle Ryuji’s dick just so, so he can swipe it against his cheek and sweep the come there into his mouth. Any half-hearted thoughts that Ryuji might go soft fly out of his head. “Might have been hot,” he says. “I’m sorta starting to think there might be a few things I didn’t know I was into.”

“You’re _sort of_ _starting_ to think there _might_ be?” Fuck, Goro starts twisting both wrists in opposite directions. Even with both hands Ryuji _still_ doesn’t quite fit, and there’s still come clinging to the top of his fingers. “You really do catch on slow, don’t you?”

Ryuji groans.

Fuck his life.

Fuck Goro more, though.

He thinks about it for a second, then tells him exactly that.

Goro does nothing but grin, sharp and darkly delighted.

(Right.)

(He _likes_.)

(He _wants_ …)

(Oh.)

He lets go with both hands, and Ryuji laments for only a second before Goro is crawling up his body and reaching down to slip his expensive red underwear off along the way and settling with Ryuji’s _big, big dick_ pressed right up against his ass. Ryuji can feel how hard he is when he leans down to kiss him, leaking heavily between them.

(He, apparently, _really_ likes.)

( _Really wants…_ )

( _Oh_.)

Goro’s nudity is new, but it feels strangely familiar. An unexpected side effect of having waited so long, maybe: Ryuji doesn’t feel as nervous as he thought he would. It might be the novelty of being wanted exactly as he is, or it might be the abject stupidity of the whole situation. Goro is lithe and narrow and oxymoronically strong, thighs taut and firm on either side of Ryuji’s hips, no give to them when Ryuji gives in and lets his hands land there to test their resistance. His dick is on the smaller side of average, if anything, cut and straight and flushed at the tip, and usually that kind of thing makes Ryuji wilt with jealous comparison, but this time the reminder is heady and hot:

He’s _bigger_ than Goro.

He’s _a lot_ bigger than Goro.

Fever dreams he’s never allowed himself to indulge come oozing in from the sides: what it might look like to hold Goro’s smaller cock against his and _grind_ , showing off the obnoxious difference (or, better yet, to have Goro do it; to have Goro’s thin, graceful, _long_ fingers try and fail to get a good grip so they end up slipping messy and desperate against each other); what it might taste like to get between Goro’s legs and tease him open with his tongue, keeping one hand at the base of his _big, big dick_ like he always does (but not, for once, to keep himself at a less intimidating level of arousal; rather, to get himself harder, _bigger_ , the way Goro _wants_ ); what it might feel like to be inside someone, fully inside, fully inside _Goro_ …

The very tip of his _big, big dick_ rests in the dip of Goro’s lower back.

He wonders if he’s leaving silly, sticky dick prints made of spit and precome in the dimples he’s always imagined Goro must have there.

He wonders if he’ll be able to recreate them later, when he’s got Goro by both hips.

Ryuji doesn’t want Goro to stop kissing him. He makes an abjectly pitiful noise when his boyfriend pulls up and back, but the ensuing view is arguably worth it: Goro bending backward in an effortless arch, cock unabashedly on display, as he grabs his discarded pants with one pinky and pulls himself back up (slower than he needs to, Ryuji is pretty fucking sure, just so he can draw out that perfect stretch of skin over his abs) and produces a packet of lube from the pocket.

Ryuji would laugh, but it won’t occur to him to be amused for hours, yet. “You just have that with you?” he asks.

Goro leans down to swipe his tongue around the shell of Ryuji’s ear. “I wasn’t about to risk being unprepared.” He tears the packet open and coats three fingers on his left hand, and three fingers on Ryuji’s right. “I’ve been ready for you to fuck me every time I’ve seen you since April.” He reaches back, and Ryuji can’t see what’s happening ( _fuck his life_ ), but Goro’s clenched teeth are evidence enough. He smiles at Ryuji like he hopes it cuts. (It does.) “Is that more of a turn-on or a piss-off?”

Ryuji doesn’t answer. He’s too busy watching Goro rear up onto his knees proper so he can grab Ryuji’s slick right hand and guide it between his legs and urge his forefinger in alongside Goro’s, and Ryuji still can’t see what’s going on but he can feel; _fuck_ , he can _feel_ how Goro takes him in. And somehow Ryuji’d thought that, with all his enthusiasm, Goro would get fingered like it’s _nothing_ , but his whole face pulls toward the middle and tightens and _holds_ there, and it might be pain except for the guttural moan that rips itself out of Goro’s throat, shaped somewhere between _yes_ and _more_.

Really, Ryuji should have known better.

When has Goro Akechi ever wanted something because it’s _easy_ for him?

(Lucky Ryuji, in that regard.)

(... _luck_ his life?)

(Ugh, look, spelling’s not the only thing that’s touch and go for him, okay?)

“Yeah,” Ryuji says into the ditch of Goro’s shoulder, where he smells like the lavender conditioner Ryuji _hates_ and the expensive body wash that Ryuji _loves_. “Goro, _yeah_ …”

(Hours later—right around the time Ryuji will start finding it funny that _the_ Goro Akechi has been carrying around _thrusting paste_ for the better part of half a year, _hahaha_ —it’ll occur to Ryuji that he’d technically answered Goro’s question.)

( _More of a turn-on or a piss-off?_ )

( _Yes_.)

(Goro, incidentally, won’t find it as funny as Ryuji does.)

Somewhere along the way Goro adds another finger, and so does Ryuji, and it’s a sick, strange thrill wondering if even _that_ will be enough prep (even as he realizes it _has to be_ ; thinks resolutely that next time he’ll come prepared with plugs and toys and all sorts of things that had seemed humiliating to need not an hour before all this and now just seem like heady promises).

They kiss and suck and bite at each other, all the while both of them working Goro open together, and by the time they’re both purple from earlobe to collarbone (and even beyond, where Goro is concerned; so _sue_ Ryuji for having a bit of an oral fixation given his intimate options over the years) Goro feels wet and eager and _aching_ , fluttering around Ryuji’s fingers. He starts to mumble absent-mindedly, and Ryuji would call them sweet nothings, but _sweet_ might be a bit of a misnomer…

“I’m going to _take you_ , Ryuji, going to take this _big dick_ so you know how _stupid_ it was to keep it from me, you’re mine, you’re _mine_ , all the parts of you, big or small, _all of you_ , you’re fucking _mine_ , Sakamoto, and _you don’t even know what that means_ , you _beautiful_ fool…” (Nasty nothings, then, maybe.) “Enough, I’m ready, I’m _ready_ , you…”

He doesn’t elaborate on what Ryuji is.

He pulls his fingers out, and tugs Ryuji’s out with a firm, gentle hand on his wrist (slow, so Ryuji can curl them carefully on his way out and watch Goro twitch and leak some more— _ha_ , his situation’s given him _some_ necessary insider knowledge over the years, especially when it comes to his tongue and his hands), and paws at the bedspread for the lube packet, and squeezes what’s left onto Ryuji’s _big, big dick_ and…

And…

Oh.

That’s…

 _Oh_.

Goro looks Ryuji in the eye when he takes him.

Everyone Ryuji’s ever had _this_ kind of sex with has tried—valiantly, in some cases—to look at him, but no one’s ever been able to pull it off. They’ve all given in to the urge to press their eyelids shut against the blunt, seemingly unwelcome intrusion of Ryui’s _big, big dick_.

Goro, though, reaches down and holds Ryuji steady by the base (fuck) and positions himself carefully until he can bear down ( _fuck_ ) and looks Ryuji in the eye as he takes him deeper...deeper...deeperdeeper _deeper_ …

He gives about halfway—grunts and lets his expression shut down from hairline to chin—then rallies and opens up in defiance of something Ryuji doesn’t understand. His lips go slack and his jaw falls open and he looks _through_ Ryuji to all the things he doesn’t know how to like about himself, and goes about liking them _for_ him.

It’s not a simple thing, but it’s far simpler than Ryuji’s fretted about for the vast majority of his sexually active life: after a few careful minutes Goro sinks down that last impossible bit, and Ryuji bottoms out for the first time.

It’s possible he goes a little brainless about it.

Later, Goro will tell him he did, anyway; will say his eyes had rolled back in his head like a shark and his hands had fumbled about Goro’s hips, flappy and bizarre, as he’d wheezed through the noose of his own ragged moan.

Ryuji will, on principle, reject this assessment.

(If he’s being honest, though, it sounds about right.)

Goro punching all the air out of his own chest as his ass meets Ryuji’s hips is mind-numbing. He’s a tight, hot, unrelenting pressure, all around Ryuji from base to tip, and he’s never—Ryuji’s _never_ —

“ _Fuck_ , that’s deep…” Goro sighs ( _sighs_ , not _grunts_ , what a fucking trip). He circles his hips once, twice, hardly moving at all, as if he’s trying to gauge _how_ deep.

Something catches Ryuji’s eye. His thoughts are doing their best to put themselves back in the right order, so he doesn’t quite understand what it is, at first, even though it has his fingers digging bruises into Goro’s thighs; has him exhaling hard, so suddenly and obscenely aroused it makes him nauseous. “Is that…?” he breathes.

Goro follows Ryuji’s sightline; presses a palm almost reverently against his lower stomach, against the _bulge_ there—almost unnoticeable but irrefutably _there_ ; Ryuji swears he can fucking _feel_ the phantom pressure of his hand from _inside_. “Ryuji…”

Ryuji shifts his hips up— _thrusts_ , for the first time, albeit carefully—and the bulge moves under Goro’s hand, and he hopes this is as good for Goro as he’d seemed to expect it would be, because Ryuji’s pretty sure he’s hooked like an addict already; chasing a dragon whose first high he hasn’t even ridden out yet.

Goro moves counterpoint on Ryuji’s next thrust. He lifts up; meets Ryuji in the middle on the way down with a pleased little trilling sound in his throat. “Yes,” he hisses as they start up a slow, cautious rhythm. “That’s it, that’s _it_ …”

Ryuji doesn’t know what _it_ is, but he agrees, anyway.

This can’t not be _it_ when it’s fucking _everything_.

The squeeze is _insane_ —painful in the best way—but the undeniable knowledge is even better: Ryuji is _inside_ Goro; he’s _watching himself_ plunge _inside_ Goro, over and over again, and Goro’s face is going more and more rigid with some sick, blackened pleasure and, true to his word, Ryuji can’t do anything but lie there and _take it_.

He arches helplessly, and the sheets bunch up under his back as he does, and Goro goes precisely, _torturously_ faster, tilting back and forth as he goes, exacerbating the _drag_ of it all. Everything about him suddenly seems so determined and small. His hips seem narrower than usual, his waist more tightly nipped in, everything compact in comparison to the heady, abstract understanding that Ryuji’s _big, big dick_ is splitting him open.

Goro’s so hard he’s dripping over Ryuji’s stomach in thin, clear, sticky strings. When Ryuji touches him ( _fuck_ , he fits perfectly in Ryuji’s palm, and that’s somehow such a stark, hot contrast) it elicits a tense, furious moan. He tilts his chin down and curls forward so he’s thrusting harder into Ryuji’s fist; slamming himself down with more force until the _slap-slap-slap_ of it creates a lewd, salacious cacophony alongside the slick sound of his cock in Ryuji’s hand. “ _Close_ ,” he gasps, “Tell me…”

Ryuji’s got his feet planted on the bed so he can thrust up with more force, and it’s starting to make his thighs ache in a way they never have during sex. He feels like his orgasm is building all over his body; like all his skin is tightening in anticipation. “Tell you what…?”

“Tell me you want me to come on your cock.” Goro looks increasingly unhinged the closer he gets to the edge. There’s hair sticking to the thin layer of sweat on his forehead. His mouth is so unexpectedly filthy it verges on nonsensical. (Ryuji’s not sure what it says about him that he finds all these things so hot he could lose it on the spot.) “Fuck me just like that and tell me you want to feel me come hard all over you.”

“ _Please_ ,” Ryuji begs, “Please, I wanna feel you, I wanna make you come, _Goro_ , please—”

Goro comes, and it’s a beautiful disaster.

He rears back into a gorgeous curve, stomach tense, that fucking _bulge_ still _just_ visible, and gets some mostly-strangled version of the first syllable of Ryuji’s name out before he devolves into wordless, pornographic noises. He pulses hard, pulses _everywhere_ —in Ryuji’s hand, around his cock—and shivers and twitches and shoots clear up to Ryuji’s collarbones, come pooling in his clavicle.

He reaches back and digs his fingernails into the tender meat of Ryuji’s thighs, so the pain there is twofold.

Ryuji groans; freezes; reaches up to press one hand against the bump in Goro’s stomach and comes hard and fast and deep inside. Goro circles his hips all the while, pleased little overstimulated hums vibrating in his throat. It’s sacrificial, almost. It makes Ryuji feel like he’s lying on the altar of some terrible, awesome god and the knife’s just come down and he’s realized, all at once, that all the stories are true and he’s been taken into the arms of a power he doesn’t understand.

“Fuck my life,” he pants. “Fuck my _life_ , holy _shit_ …”

Because fuck Ryuji’s life.

He’s really gone and done it now.

He watches Goro trail one slender finger through the mess of his own come; watches his own _big, big dick_ slide slowly out as Goro lifts himself carefully upward; realizes all at once that _shit_ , he’d only _thought_ he had it bad for this uppity little asshole before.

Now he might be a little bit in love.

Maybe it’s fuck Goro’s life, then—he’s fuckin’ _stuck_ with Ryuji now, whether he likes it or not.

Akechi just laughs when Ryuji tells him so. “Am I?” he quips lightly, and lets his thumb play innocently around the warm, smooth skin in the ditch of Ryuji’s hip, right next to his _big, big dick_. “Oh _no_. Whatever will I do?”

\--- --- --- --- --- ---

Ryuji Sakamoto might have a big dick, but Akira Kurusu _is_ one.

“You know, I kind of expected you to at least say you’re sorry,” Ryuji grumbles.

Akira does not say he’s sorry. He just keeps grinning at Ryuji over the LeBlanc counter, head angled so the steam from his coffee cup makes swirling patterns of condensation on the left lens of his glasses. “You want me to _apologize_ for causing the things I heard happening in that room?”

 _Shithead_.

But honestly…

Fuck _yeah_ ; Ryuji’s life.

He’s got a _big, big dick_ and a _shithead_ of a best friend, and both those things are finally coming up roses for him.

Still.

Give Akira an inch and he’ll take a mile, Ryuji knows.

“How could you hear anything over the sound of your own hurl?”

Akira’s grin goes sharp and he tilts his head just so, so the light glints off the steam on his left lens. (Ugh, _shithead_.) “Ryuji, buddy, _everyone_ heard _everything_ , even over the sound of my hurl.”

Doesn’t Ryuji know it. Thankfully only Makoto and Haru really seem to _remember_ hearing everything, so he’s at least got that going for him. “I hope Morgana hacks up a furball in your Jack Frost slippers.”

“Joke’s on you, he already has. Now I keep a back-up pair.”

“I hope you find it in the middle of the night when you get up to piss. I hope it’s still wet.”

Akira laughs. “Is that what Akechi says about your–?”

“What I say about his _anything_ is none of your concern.” Goro makes sure to slide in between Ryuji and the counter on his way back from the bathroom, so he half-straddles him and has ample opportunity to steal a kiss. It blocks Akira from view for a second, but Ryuji can practically see him making over-exaggerated gagging faces, anyway. Whatever. Worth it. So worth it Ryuji steals a _second_ kiss, just so he feels like he’s coming out on top _somewhere_ , here. (It still feels like more of a win for Goro, but he’ll take what he can get.)

“My concern: no,” Akira agrees. “My entertainment: _yes_.”

Goro crosses one leg over the other, and manages to make it look demure and clipped all at once. He considers for a moment, then acquiesces: “Fair.”

Ryuji gapes. “ _Fair_?”

He gets two mirrored looks in return, both a kind of _-mused_ , one _am-_ and one _be-_ , and he mentally doubles down: _fair_ his ass. Nothing about having to deal with Akira and Akechi and their weird parallel fuckery is _fair_.

Fun, though. He has to give them that.

(Maruki’s started giving him these secretive, knowing little smiles when he brings this up, and telling him he’s proud of his progress, so Ryuji figures it’s mostly okay to get his odd kicks like this.)

“You look like those twins from The Shindig when you do that, you know.”

Goro pats him absently on the hand and resettles over his crossword puzzle. “The _Shining_.”

Akira pats his other hand, just to be a _shithead_. “Come play with us, Ryuji. Forever and ever.”

“You know what? Fuck you both.”

There are those _-mused_ looks again: _am-_ and _be-_.

“Well, from the sounds of things at Haru’s, Akechi would _love_ for you to–” Akira chuckles, at the same time Goro quips, “ _Both_ , we have to talk about. _Me_ , on the other hand–” and Ryuji drops his head onto the counter so hard it upends his hot chocolate.

Fuck his life.

(He can only hope.)

**Author's Note:**

> This was pure self-indulgent word therapy and I enjoyed every second of it lmaooooo.
> 
> [Twitter is here. Vibes are horny on main.](www.twitter.com/BleedingType)
> 
> Bonus points for anyone who caught the Shakespeare reference in the title. (I am a strumpet for the Bard and also very bad at naming things.)


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